Before I begin, let me say one thing. This story is not for you. No, you’re not first. You’re not important. Get your heads out of your collective asshole. This is my thread, and if you don’t like it, you can GTFO and let it sage.
Read MoreAishiteru Means I Love YouWe at Apex Magazine love our dark SF. 2015 has been a tough twelve months for many so we wanted to run something that offers optimism and hope. Any member of any religion (or lack thereof) will enjoy Michael A. Burstein's tale of perseverance in the face of adversity.
Read MoreThe Great Miracle
Chancery hissed at the sudden pain of a splinter in her palm. She took a deep breath filled with the scent of dust and woodsap, and exhaled the hurt as steam to dissipate in the cold air.
Read MoreShe Gave Her Heart, He Took Her MarrowTwo months after Cal Fichtner took himself officially “off the map”, Greer Reizendaark logged onto the Company webmail account to find a particularly well-scrubbed piece of e-correspondence waiting for him. No header, no address, no send-date—just a numerical link embedded in the body, with this curt instruction: LIVE AT ONE. CLICK HERE.
Read MoreSignal to NoiseDanville stared at his hands, only a few shades darker than the walnut wood of the desk. Grease and oil were thick under short chewed fingernails. His gaze strayed to the torn CSA battle flag nailed to the wall. It was riddled with holes and stained with gunpowder, smoke, and blood, a grisly trophy.
Read MoreThe Beacon and the CowardHalf a block away I could feel it already, the old giddiness, the limb-tingling bliss at being about to dance, to sweat, to shake my body beside other bodies, and that’s when I knew I was in true mortal peril.
Read MoreTo Die Dancing
The black boy on trial smells the blood. That sweet, sweet hemoglobin, boiling now under the blushed skins of the dying race. He can smell mousse, too, and putrid sweat.
Read MoreBlood on Beacon HillMe and Jasper was down by Pookie Dotson’s meth shack, waitin’ for Pookie to show up with his special bag of Halloween goodies.
Read MoreMe and Jasper, Down By the Meth ShackI wake up in someone else’s house every morning, and lay my head somewhere else every night. The tattoos are my only constant company, covering almost all my skin. I’d stretch the free space of my flesh out if I could, but I don’t make or choose the pictures—and I can’t control the size.
Read MoreAll Things to All People